


If I Lay Here

by AsheTarasovich (natalieashe), natalieashe



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Comfort, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:12:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/AsheTarasovich, https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/natalieashe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q is freezing in the wreck of a home Bond has bought as his retirement project when he gets a nighttime visit</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Lay Here

Q's bony feet hit the bare floorboards causing a shiver to run right up his pyjama covered legs. The clock read 02:30 and he’d been ignoring his need to piss for over an hour, but the cold and several too many cups of tea, meant it was now or burst. He popped the ear buds of his iPod out letting them dangle from the clip that kept them secured to his pyjama top, formerly a ratty old t-shirt of Bond’s that was far too big and hung sloppily off one shoulder. The tinny music accompanied his hobbling track to the ancient bathroom, trying to put no more contact between his soles and the bare wood than absolutely necessary. Why the hell James had insisted they buy this wreck he’d never understand. A project for his retirement, James said, but seriously? James Bond wielding a hammer for any other reason than a weapon was a ridiculous notion that made Q snort out loud into the deathly silence.

The flush of the prehistoric toilet set all the pipes to banging, adding to Q’s audible groan of frustration and the little yips of distaste as his chilly toes hit the icy floor with each footstep. The damn things would creak for hours now so no chance he’d get back to sleep, even with the piped music in his ears. Tea. Probably unwise but definitely welcome, if only to wrap his fingers around. He returned to the bedroom for his favourite mug, but as he passed the kitchen door there was a shuffling.

“Damn cat.” He had meant to nail the cat flap shut to prevent the mangy tom from down the road from coming in and spraying everywhere again. The huge ginger monstrosity seemed to think this house was his domain and the humans were the intruders on his territory. Q was sick of evicting the spitting ball of teeth and claws. He was a cat person. He _was_. He just preferred them to be invited guests not filthy rude squatters. He grabbed the bristle-bare broom that he kept by the door specifically for cat-herding and advanced on the foul beast.

The broom clattered to the floor when he came face to battered face with an entirely different beast. “What the bloody hell happened to you?” he demanded, crossing the room in two strides.

Bond looked up at him blearily, one eye swollen almost completely shut and his face a bloodied mess. “Disagreement,” he muttered through thick lips. “Need a bit of assistance.”

“You think? For god’s sake James, this is what Medical is for.” Q started opening drawers and cupboards searching for the one item he had insisted upon before agreeing to move in with the two double 0 agents.

“Under the sink,” Bond croaked, directing the younger man to the first aid kit. Q slammed the large plastic box on the table and turned to the sink, turning on the tap with little hope of hot water. The kettle was an elderly stove top that would take forever to boil, but he set it away on the gas ring. Lukewarm would be better than icy cold. He flicked the power button on his one luxury and set the iPod in its dock, adjusting the volume to low.

“Do I even want to know? No of course I don’t. This is all to get out of being Mr November in the office calendar isn’t it?” Bond snorted and then grunted with pain. When he pulled his hand away from his side to unlatch the box he left behind stark dark fingerprints on the while plastic. “Let me see James,” Q’s voice was nervous now. Bond tried to sit up straight, face contorting with the burn in his side.

“Knife wound. Not deep, but it bloody stings.”

Q sighed. “Don’t you dare move, back in one.” He left the room and Bond allowed himself a moment to let the full pain wash over him, emitting a quiet strangled groan. With considerable difficulty he worked himself out of his jacket, but by the time Q returned he was sweating with the effort. “Christ James.” Q dropped pyjama pants and a t-shirt onto the chair and then poured the barely warm water from the kettle into a bowl. Deft fingers flicked open the buttons of Bond’s shirt, easing the sticky fabric gently away from the wound. Bond was correct, it wasn’t deep and the bleeding had already slowed to a tiny amount of seeping, but the bruising across his torso mottled his skin in hideous patterns, some recognizable as boot prints. “I’ll stick half dozen stitches in it.” Q said, just for something to say that was business-like and not clouded with distress at seeing his lover in such pain.

Bond grimaced through the stitching, relieved when the injury was dressed and he could breathe, albeit uncomfortably again. Broken ribs undoubtedly. Q tossed the shirt in the trash along with the used cotton and medical rubbish and turned to Bond. “Can you stand? Sleep would be good about now.” He offered Bond his arm, and for once the agent accepted the help gracefully, rising to his feet inelegantly. He took a step and staggered, falling against Q’s chest and almost sending them both to the floor. “Steady,” Q murmured, closing his arms around Bond’s waist until the older man regained his balance. Bond circled Q in a tight embrace, dropping his injured face to the young man’s shoulder.

“Funeral song,” he muttered into Q’s neck. “This one…”

“One of my favourites,” Q whispered. “Don’t you dare force me to use it just yet…” He rested his head on Bond’s shoulder, bodies swaying gently together, letting the music transport them away for a moment.

_If I lay here_  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

 

**Author's Note:**

> Song is 'Chasing Cars' by Snow Patrol, which is incidentally my funeral song.


End file.
